


Edge of Gloriville

by hrhowling



Series: The Urban Moon Bistro [1]
Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Drabbles, Gen, Master Attendant is a cat, Mild Angst, Not In Chronological Order, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some Headcanons n stuff, Temporary Character Death, Vignette, non-binary character(s), now with illustrations!, world-building headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 16,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhowling/pseuds/hrhowling
Summary: A look into Master Attendant Khala, and their team of Food Souls, at the Urban Moon Bistro





	1. It's the Scarves

**Author's Note:**

> I've only had this game for a week. Help me.

[ ](https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.bbcgoodfood.com%2Fhowto%2Fguide%2Fhealth-benefits-coffee&psig=AOvVaw3uwv89lj8sRRLxVRDrkYdh&ust=1540644123476238)

The first Food Souls that Khala had ever known were a Coffee and a Banana Bread who helped their uncle run a coffee shop, over in Banza, by the border. The Coffee had been a brunet, with eyes darker than the countless espressos he made for himself, and Khala had taken to calling him Mister Bean after seeing the name stamped onto so many bags of coffee beans in the back of the shop. Banana Bread (or ‘Nana’, as Khala knew him) had been a cosy figure throughout the summers when they got sent over to Banza by their parents, always eager to let Khala help him bake and sweeping them up in his wool cardigan if they ever seemed upset, his startling yellow hair tickling their face and green eyes glittering. 

As the years went by, Khala got to know more Food Spirits, more often than not, mistaking other Coffees for their uncle’s when walking from home to school, until they’d learned to look for the subtle differences that marked out Mister Bean from the rest. Some had darker, or lighter skin and hair, and Khala had never seen one with eyes as dark as Mister Bean’s. There always had to be at least one scarf, but usually they were rich burgundys or navy. No one else wore green like Mister Bean. 

So eventually, the cases of mistaken identity and rushing over to a stranger’s Coffee shouting ‘Mister Bean!’ stopped. 

> _“How can you tell them all apart? They all look the same to me.”_
> 
> _“It’s the scarves, mostly. See those two? One’s wearing blue, the other’s in red. And that one over there is wearing four at once.”_

Eventually, rushing into the arms of a Coffee, a Banana Bread and a battered Cooking Attendant stopped altogether. 

Khala was never sure why. It probably had something to do with their parents’ refusal to talk about Uncle Ronin, which started the same year that there was no summer spent in Banza. 

They’d been twelve. 

More time passed, and Khala grew up having decided that Uncle Ronin’s business was his own. They went to culinary school; the most reasonable place that they could afford whilst still having money left over; and the moment they graduated, bought a small establishment towards the outer edge of the city and became a Cooking Attendant. Scrounging up Soul Shards was a pain, since they were too stingy to splash on actual crystals, but they got by; the business steadily becoming a modestly popular bistro frequented by local families and elderly couples. It was not a gourmet restaurant that only served the finest of clients, not by any means, but the friendly, hodgepodge warmth of it brought back years-old nostalgia, and memories of grinding coffee beans, frothing milk, and bananas frozen hard enough to knock someone unconscious if you threw them at the head with enough force. 

“It’s the fast-track to good banana bread,” Khala remembered, from brief moments in the walk-in freezer with that pastel lime cardigan over their shoulders. “And you should always have it with a nice cup of coffee.” 

So that’s how they did it. Banana bread made from thawed-out bananas (that Hawthorne Ball may or may not have used as mock swords at some point), always served with a complimentary hot drink. Soft, sweet, and something to help bring back the feeling of those long-gone summers. 


	2. Yellow as a Banana Bread (Coffee)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee is spilled. Coffee is Summoned.
> 
> Why the hell is he yellow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send help this gacha game has taken over

It was early evening in Gloriville. Closing hours for the Urban Moon, and Khala was bent over their desk with a monstrous cup of coffee. They’d gone into the woods with Milk, Black Tea and Tom Yum to look for some fresh ingredients, but a pack of especially vicious Fallen Angels had cut the excursion short, leaving the entire team frazzled and exhausted. 

But finances made way for nothing, not even itchy burns from having a hot metal platter tossed at your back, and Khala had just spent the last hour and a half pouring over the day’s profits and upcoming bills, making room for buying more supplies and counting up stock. 

Groaning, they stood up and stretched the aches out of their back and shoulders that had built up from being stuck in one position for so long. And damn, did their skin _itch_. Uncle Ronin’s reluctance to give them piggyback rides after missions made much more sense now. 

Ugh. They needed another drink. Something without any caffeine, preferably. 

“Fuckdammit!” Khala snapped when they accidentally knocked over their half-full mug, spilling cold coffee all over the floor, where a Summoning circle was painted onto the wood with white paint. “Dammit, fuck... tissues...” 

Still grumbling under their breath all the while, Khala fetched some tissues from the store cupboard and mopped up the spilled drink, then took the empty mug back downstairs to refill it with some hot chocolate. They needed something to properly calm their nerves. Maybe a snack would help too. 

The kitchen was silent, the only light coming from the windows and the late summer sun painting everything in caramel tones. No buzz of customers filled the air, just tiny, infrequent dust particles and the patter of Khala’s bare feet against the linoleum floor. They made themselves a mug of hot chocolate and cut a hefty slice of banana bread from a loaf in the bread bin, then went straight back to their room and plonked themselves down on the oversized blue beanbag in there. 

That turned out to be a mistake, because now their burns were just even more irritated. 

Fine. Back to the desk chair it is, then. 

As they sulked over hot chocolate and banana bread, their eyes were drawn towards the brand-new coffee stains on the white of the Summoning Circle. 

 

> _“What’re those college kids arguing about this time, squirt?”_  
> 
> _“Something about food and... and cor..._ _correpos_ _n_ _-n_ _anse_ _?”_  
> 
> _“_ _Correspondence_ _. It’s probably the whole ‘food in the Summoning Circle equals that Food Soul’ debate.”_  
> 
> _“Does it?”_  
> 
> _“Huh? Oh, no, not really. No one’s really sure. But I do it anyway.”_  
> 
> _“Why?”_  
> 
> _“Oh, well, if you suddenly came into existence, what would you like first?”_  
> 
> _“Food.”_  
> 
> _“Exactly. Food, or a good, stiff drink.”_  

That last sentence drew a snort from Khala’s nose. Uncle Ronin always did have an... unconventional method to his work, to fit his sense of humour (which a young Khala hadn’t always understood, but thirteen years later, they certainly did). The only people he ever worked well with were his own Food Souls, and his bluntly honest outlook on life tended to put people off. Nevertheless, Khala had enjoyed those visits, and the man himself was always the highlight; a refreshing contrast from the stern, cautious demeanour of their parents. 

Their musing gaze drifted from the circle to the bag of Soul Embers on the desk. There was enough in there to summon another Food Soul for the team, but was it worth doing it now? Everyone was winding down from the day’s work, would they be up for socialising? 

Oh, who were they kidding? Hawthorne would be ecstatic to meet someone new, and having someone else on the gathering team would be a massive help. They grabbed the bag and tipped the Soul Embers out onto the floor, arranging them on the outer edge of the circle, sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of it, and began the incantation. 

Sigils began glowing softly, the Embers trembled with energy, a warm light began pulsing faintly from nothing. Energy filled the room, standing Khala’s hair on end and buzzing in her fingertips as words poured from their mouth, ancient and unknown. On and on, they chanted, even as they ran out of breath and the light became too bright to bear. 

On. 

And on. 

Until it stopped, leaving... nothing. 

Breathless, Khala blinked. There was no one there. The Embers were still in the same place, unchanged, no longer shaking, the light was gone... 

Had something gone wrong? Had they mispronounced something? No, they’d spent weeks learning to recite the incantation fluently without fail, they couldn’t have just screwed up out of the blue now, right? 

“Just my luck,” they muttered, shoulders drooping. They’d try again in the morning, when they felt less like shit. 

Just as they made a move to get up, they were blinded by a sudden flash of light, which startled them badly enough to knock them back down onto their back with a thud and a curse. 

“A bitter yet mellow taste. This is exactly the kind that will linger your mouth after just one sip, never allowing you... to... forget it, where are-? Oh! Oh, dear, I am _so_ sorry. Are you alright?” 

An elegant brown hand held itself out for Khala to take, and they stared at it for a long while before accepting. They saw a long brown coat, blue scarf, round sunglasses and a startling shock of yellow hair. A Pudding? No, wrong clothes.

“Are you alright?” the unnamed Food Soul repeated, voice rich and silky smooth.  _Definitely_ not a Pudding.

“Could be worse,” Khala shrugged. “Just like your timing.” 

The Soul blinked. “I’m late?” 

“Juuust a little. What, did you sleep through the alarm or something?” 

He looked a little sheepish at that. “Something along those lines.” 

“Eh, I don’t blame you. I’m Khala, by the way. Almost... forgot that.” 

The Food Soul gave a devilish, his previous shyness immediately forgotten. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Attendant. I am Coffee, and from this moment forth, I am eager to receive your guidance.” 

He bowed ever so slightly, and held out his hand. Khala shook it, and got the sneaking suspicion that he’d been practising this. It seemed Mister Bean wasn’t the only dork who thought he was suave. 

“The feeling’s mutual. But just call me Khala, okay?” 

Coffee straightened up, “Of course. Where shall we start, Khala?” 

“The fact that you’re as blond as a Banana Bread?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2


	3. Small World (Coffee & Milk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee and Milk are back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put this onto the last chapter, but there was no way I could add it on and make it feel like a smooth transition, so I made it into a separate piece. Enjoy.

It hadn’t occurred to Khala that Food Souls would know one another from before being Summoned. Banana Bread had mentioned a previous Master Attendant from time to time, but until witnessing the reunion between Coffee, Milk and Black Tea, Khala had never thought anything of it.

“Small world,” was all they said, before gathering he others and leaving them be.

The moment Khala and the other Food Souls left the room, Coffee and Milk pulled each other into a bone-breaking hug, holding onto each other like it was their last day on earth together.

“I missed you,” Milk murmured, fingers tangling themselves up in the man’s hair.

“I missed you too,” Coffee said. He didn’t want to let go. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“It’s a small world.”

“So I’ve heard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2


	4. Brownie Bites (Brownie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Urban Moon Bistro's greatest calamity yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired by a [post](https://hayhaythebay.tumblr.com/post/177042730328/did-the-creators-use-british-folklore-to-further) made by [hayhaythebay](https://hayhaythebay.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! Go check them out!

In the months since the Urban Moon Bistro had first opened for business, it had played host to Fallen Angel attacks, a Bad Batch of coffee beans, various stray dogs, and the wrath of an overprotective Sake that one time a customer had made Jiuniang cry. All of these incidents had been handled with calm dignity by the establishment’s Food Souls and their Master Attendant, with minimal casualties, provided you don’t count the Fallen Angels. 

But none of it matched up with this latest catastrophe; one which left Crepe nearly going batshit crazy, and Yellow Wine chewing on his nails with stress. 

Someone had pissed off Brownie. 

 

 

> _“Uncle Ronin? Why is Mr Brownie up in the rafters?”_  
> 
> _“Oh, for the love of-. Goddammit, who pissed him off this time?”_  
> 
> _“I didn’t do anything!”_  
> 
> _“Boston, you and I both know that’s_ _horse-_ _…_ _-_ _hockey… BT_ _,_ _could you get him down for me?”_  
> 
> _“Sir, he’s hissing at customers. Having me approach_ _him would be inadvisable_ _.”_  
> 
> _“…_ _Shite_ _, he_ is _mad._ _Alright_ _, where’s the cold cream_ _!_ _?”_  

It had started off innocently enough. Salt in someone’s tea instead of sugar (in retrospect, it was usually Crepe); laundry going to the wrong rooms; and peoples’ beds being made so that their legs didn’t fit in the sheets. Nothing too severe; they could easily be passed off as one of Ume’s pranks, or a simple mistake. 

But then it escalated. Sake and Yellow Wine started complaining of an ungodly _stench_ in their rooms, which almost made Khala throw up. The smell turned out to be rotten tuna stuffed into the curtain poles, which also explained why Coulis, a neighbourhood cat, had refused to leave the window for three days. Someone swapped around the Tofu twins’ music CDs, which started a fight. All the sugar in stock got swapped with salt and vice versa. Moths started appearing in the closets. Everyone (except suspiciously Brownie) was complaining about these increasingly frequent incidents. It got worse, and worse, leading up to this exact moment. 

“Brownie, will you come down, please?” 

A low hiss was the only answer that Khala got from the Food Soul up in the rafters. 

“I know you’re angry. But unless you get down from there so we can talk about it, this cream’s going to go sour, and nobody wants that.” 

Customers were staring at this point, the spectacle of the Bistro’s Master Attendant waving a jug of cold cream up at the pair of silver-blue eyes in the rafters being a new one. It was made even more entertaining by the sudden arrival of a Crepe and Yellow Wine, both barging into the dining area and demanding the location of their best fan and underwear respectively. Their ire was cut short by a fork, thrown with enough force to lodge it into the wood flooring at their feet. Everyone watched as the implement shook to a standstill, the Soul in the Rafters hissing all the while. 

“Mature,” Khala remarked. 

Another fork was thrown into the floor. No one commented this time. 

“Yellow, Suzette,” Khala began calmly, cutting them off before they could say anything. “Please leave. I’ll handle this on my own.” 

With some reluctance, Yellow Wine and Crepe did as they were told. Brownie’s growls followed them out. 

Khala looked back up at him. 

“You ready to talk? Or is this cream going to go sour?” 

Nothing. 

“Brownie, come on. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s gotten you so upset.” They held up the jug higher above their head. “Think about the cream!” 

They carried on like this for the better half of an hour, Khala sweet-talking and waving about the cream and Brownie jumping between the rafters and making his anger very well-known to anyone listening. 

Finally, _finally_ , he relented, and jumped down to the floor. 

“Thank you,” Khala breathed, shoulders sagging with relief. “Honestly, you guys are going to be the death of me.” 

Brownie just looked ashamedly at the floor, saying nothing. Guests were still staring. 

“Go sit outside,” Khala instructed. “I’ll join you in a moment.” They gestured to the cream. “You want this?” 

Brownie nodded, took the cream, and went out to the back garden. 

* * *

The Bistro’s back garden was honestly a sad affair of rubble and weeds, left over by the previous Master Attendant following an attack from Fallen Angels. Khala didn’t currently have the resources to tidy it up and make it into a useable part of the establishment, so the only table and chairs were the set that Brownie was currently sat at, still with the jug of cream in front of him. 

He felt absolutely disgusted with himself. Just what had driven him to do all of those things? He was a butler, meant to provide service to others, not mess things up and make peoples’ lives a misery! That was the exact opposite of what he was meant to do. 

A door opening and the clatter of a tray snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see his Master Attendant kicking the back door shut with a heavy-looking tray in their hands. He made a move to help, but a Look stopped him in his tracks, and he sat back down. 

He was in trouble. He could feel the sickening knots of anxiety tying themselves up in his stomach as his Attendant walked towards the table and set the tray down on it. There was tea, coffee and two brownie cakes, both with forks stuck in them. 

“Tea or coffee?” 

“Tea, please.” 

They poured the drinks themselves, stopping him whenever he tried to help. Aside from asking him what he wanted with his tea and brownie, Khala didn’t say anything until they sat down. 

“I’m not mad at you,” they said, so much calmer than Brownie was feeling. “I just want to understand what happened.” 

Brownie didn’t say anything for a long while. He just stared at the table in front of him whilst confusion ran rampant in his head. 

“I-I... I just...” 

“Take your time.” 

“I don’t know!” he snapped, fists banging on the table in frustration. The rattle of the tray grated against his ears like nails on a chalkboard. “There’s just so much noise, and it keeps getting louder, and louder, I don’t know _why_ I’m doing these things! This has never happened before!” 

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to-.” Khala stopped, their eyes darting upwards. “Heyy, I thought I told you two to back off! You’ll get your shit back when you get your shit back! Now stop creeping on us!” 

Brownie didn’t look up, but he had a fairly sure idea of who Khala was yelling at. 

“Go back inside!” Khala finished, glaring up at the Bistro’s balcony until they were satisfied that the eavesdroppers were gone before returning their attention to him. “When did it start? The noise.” 

“I... I’m not sure.” Brownie’s frown deepened as he thought back to all the times that the noise got worse to the point of burning. All the times Crepe or Yellow Wine had snapped at him for a mistake. When his work went unnoticed. “But it’s... never been this bad...” 

Khala nodded, sipping at their coffee. “I guess you’ve not met many other Brownies, huh?” 

“No, my… previous Master Attendant didn’t go out much.” 

“Well, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this sort of crap is normal.” 

 

 

> _“_ _Brownies are a sensitive type.”_  
> 
> _Warmth and chocolate. That was what the kitchen smelled like on a_ _Monday_ _morning_ _before business hours_ _. That and fresh cream._  
> 
> _“_ _As_ _prim_ _and proper as they act, they thrive under_ _good_ _attention_ _. Tell a Brownie you appreciate their work, and they’re some of the best folks_ _you’ll ever have working for yous.”_  
> 
> _The windows were whited out today._  
> 
> _“Ignore ‘em_ _, or piss ‘em off, though_ _…_ _Well, then you got yourself a_ _shitstorm_ _.”_  
> 
> _The chair was a dark wood_ _, with a puffy pillow on it._  
> 
> _“_ _Poor sods can’t help it. They clam up an’ act out 'til you do_ _somethin_ _’ about it_ _.”_  
> 
> _Sanma_ _could be heard_ _clattering through the store cupboard for the kitten formula._  
> 
> _“And they get pissy enough to sour cream, which just makes things worse._ _They_ hate _soured cream._ _That’s why I bribe_ _Alf_ _with it_ _when he goes batshit_ _. He knows that if he carries on with his_ _crappy_ _attitude, the cream’ll go bad.”_  
> 
> _A mellow bitterness joined the chocolate. Coffee must be up early for once._  
> 
> _“The key is talkin’ to ‘em._ _Find out what’s winding them up and sort it ou_ _t ASAP. You_ _gettin_ _’_ _this, Khala?”_  
> 
> _“_ _Yup_ _.”_  

“You getting all of this?” Khala asked, their hands idly fiddling with the tablecloth as they talked. 

Brownie had taken to poking his dessert, which now has cream and strawberries on top. “Yes. So this is normal.” 

Khala nodded, “Yup. I have lost count of the number of college trips that were made more entertaining by an upset Brownie and a Master Attendant who doesn’t know their shit.” 

“…How did you know?” 

All Khala could manage was a wistful (or was it regretful?) smile. “I… had a good teacher.” 

Brownie didn’t say anything. Brief silence settled over the both of them. It was neither tense nor comfortable, but… thoughtful, at the very least. There were a lot of things being mulled over. 

“It’s Yellow and Suzette who’ve been upsetting you, isn’t it?” Khala said. “They’ve been getting the brunt of this.” 

Brownie’s brownie suddenly became very interesting. “…Yes.” 

“Okay. What’ve they been doing?” 

“They… they’re just really… demanding. And snappy. They don’t… notice…” 

Words were getting difficult again. The noise was back, a hot static between his ears and at the back of his skull and eyes, making the joints in his fingers itch with the need to cause trouble. 

Khala’s voice cut through the incoming haze, “Brownie, I don’t think the plate appreciates being stabbed,” startling him into dropping his fork. 

“S-sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I just don’t want to lose you right now, okay?” 

He nodded, and kept his hands clasped together on his lap. 

But Khala wasn’t quite done with the questions. 

“Does this have anything to do with Sakura being in Parisel for the past two weeks?” 

Where did that come from? 

Brownie’s confusion must have shown, because Khala explained, “I know you two are fairly close, and she likes to be there for others. You’ve been quiet ever since she left for that trip.” 

…Oh. 

“I didn’t… want to bother you,” he said, the words getting stuck in his throat. “So… when the noise got bad… I-I’d… I’d talk to her.” 

“Oh, Brownie... I’m so sorry, I should’ve noticed sooner that things weren’t alright.” 

Brownie blinked in confusion. “But... it’s not your fault.” 

For a long while, Khala didn’t say anything, until, “I’m supposed to look after you all, but I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. The blame is partly mine, no matter how you look at it.” 

“But I don’t blame you.” 

Khala sighed. “Still...” 

And although Brownie waited, Khala didn’t finish that sentence. Just took a last swig of coffee and stood up. 

“Take the rest of the day off,” they told him. “Do whatever you need to clear your head, and you, Yellow Wine and Crepe can all apologise to each other tomorrow. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Brownie nodded. 

Khala smiled at him, “Good. Also, maybe return everything you nicked at some point today. Turns out Coffee’s eyesight isn’t as twenty-twenty as he likes to think.” 

Brownie couldn’t help but chuckle at that. There was a smile on his face as he watched Khala leave the garden. 

Before they went through the door, though, they turned back to him. 

“Don’t be afraid to talk to me next time, okay?” they offered. “It’s never a bother. Ever.” 

“Thank you, Master Att-... Khala.” 

“That’s the spirit.” 


	5. Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boxes didn’t normally trouble Khala quite this much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand this is where things go out of chronological order. Set two weeks after Khala opens the Urban Moon.  
> Current Food Souls:  
> -Tom Yum  
> -Milk  
> -Black Tea  
> -Sandwich  
> -Hawthorne Ball  
> -Coffee  
> -Zongzi

Khala had only owned the restaurant for a few days when the package arrived. An oblong box, with their name neatly penned onto the label in ink. The Bistro’s address was written in their father’s cursive, though. Whoever had sent it must have not known about them moving.

In the early chaos of setting up a brand-new restaurant; buying supplies, equipment, furniture, making the Bistro look welcoming, registering for the status of Master Attendant; the box wound up being forgotten under Khala’s bed. It wasn’t until two weeks later, when Hawthorne Ball decided to play Hide & Seek that it was brought back to the forefront of Khala’s mind.

They’d just finished closing up the Bistro, and Khala was now alone in the kitchen, the box lying on the centre table in front of them, waiting to be opened.

Boxes didn’t normally trouble Khala this much. As a child, they’d liked to sit in the massive shipping crates that their father kept in the cellar, where they’d read bought and borrowed cookbooks by the glow of a clip-on reading light until their nanny called them to bed. Secrets, gifts, precious items; all of them were kept in boxes. They were safe, for the most part.

But Khala wasn’t sure about this one. Something in the back of their mind was telling them not to open it, that they weren’t allowed to. There was something about the cold look of the pine wood (how wood could look cold was beyond them), and the strict, oddly familiar handwriting in which their name was written, that put them off.

They didn’t notice Coffee when he walked in, but they did hear him when he said, “With all due respect, Master Attendant, I don’t think you can fit in that particular box.”

Khala couldn’t help but jump at the interruption in their thoughts, and glowered at the blond Food Soul for the shock. He remained unfazed.

“I haven’t even opened it yet,” they grumbled.

“Is it giving you trouble?” Coffee asked, sauntering over to get a closer look at the box.

“It’s just a box.”

“Boxes can have a lot of things in them.”

“Yeah... I’ve just got a weird feeling from this one. I wasn’t expecting it.”

Both of them stared at the box. The box sat there, being stared at. It was held shut with heavy-duty duct tape, and had a sticker on one side with a bird logo and the words ‘Blue Birds Shipping Co.’ stamped on it. There was nothing inherently unusual about it. It was just a box, doing box things.

“Should I get the others?” Coffee asked, still staring at the box. The box continued to be stared at.

“Yes please.”

Coffee went and got the others. Khala kept staring at the box, wondering what was in it. Whatever it was, it was possibly fragile, as the box was rather flat, but still thick enough that it’s also-flat contents could be padded.

Coffee came back in with the others and resumed staring. Everyone else joined in. Black Tea and Milk both squinted at it suspiciously, Sandwich, Zongzi and Tom Yum peered from a distance, and Hawthorne Ball poked it.

“What’s inside?” She asked.

Khala just shrugged, “I don’t know. Haven’t opened it yet.”

“Thirty Daouze and an entire month’s dirty dishes says it’s a set of fine China plates,” Sandwich announced, already pulling the money out of his pocket.

“Maybe it’s a ceremonial blade of sorts,” Zongzi suggested. “After all, you graduated cooking school a recently, right? Maybe it’s a present to say congrats.”

“Maybe,” Khala murmured, on their way to grab the kitchen’s biggest pair of scissors. “Although I don’t know who’d get me anything.”

“Sixty Daouze!” Sandwich shouted. “ _And_ laundry!”

“Your parents, maybe?” Milk suggested.

Khala paused, scissors in hand and the cutlery drawer half closed. “No,” and they pushed it shut with a little more force than was strictly necessary. They hacked through the box tape, and everyone watched as they lifted off the lid to reveal…

…kitchen knives, laid out one by one in a black leather carry roll, their blades gleaming in the kitchen light.

“Dammit!” Sandwich yelled, throwing his hands up and scattering notes everywhere. “I really thought it was China plates.”

Khala, in the meantime, was stunned speechless, blinking down at the knives in front of them, as they innocently winked back. Tom Yum was peering over their shoulder for a closer look.

Coffee let out a low whistle. “Those look rather high-end.”

“And expensive,” Black Tea commented, having also come in closer. “Master Attendant, where did these come from if not your parents?”

Still silent, Khala picked up a Santoku knife from the set, delicate as if they were handling glass. The blade itself was simple, non-embellished stainless steel, and the handle was polished black and white ebony, fitting into their hand in an oddly perfect manner.

“There’s a stamp on one of the rivets,” Tom Yum pointed out, awkwardly reaching round to show them where it was. “Jinzotsu Bladesmiths.”

“Where’s that?” Hawthorne asked.

“Banza,” Khala murmured, setting the Santoku back down and picking up the boning knife for inspection. Same steel, same handle. Same stamp of a knife and hammer on the middle rivet. “They’re from Banza.”

“Isn’t that a mountain town by the North border?” Black Tea enquired.

“Yea, it is.”

> _“You like the look of those knives, kid?”_
> 
> _“_ _Uhuh_ _._ _They’re shiny.”_
> 
> _“Yea, Jinny makes some real good ones. Which ones’ve you got your eye on?”_
> 
> _“Those_ _ones._ _”_
> 
> _“_ _Oof_ _, ebony, huh?_ _You got good tast_ _e,_ _those’ll_ _last_ _you._ _Damn e_ _xpensive though.”_
> 
> _“Oh.”_
> 
> _“S’matter, kid?”_
> 
> _“You said they’re expensive.”_
> 
> _“Oh yeah,_ _you_ _r_ _dad’s purse strings are tighter than Nana’s braids, aren’t they? Tell_ _ya_ _what. If you ever become a chef, and you work hard at it, I’ll get you the best set of blades you could ever ask for.”_
> 
> _“You don’t have to.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, but you’re family._ _That’s different._ _”_

“Khala?”

A hand on Khala’s elbow brought them out of their thoughts, and they looked down to see Hawthorne tugging on their sleeve.

“I think there’s more,” she said, glancing at the box. “Under the packaging.”

Khala took another look at the box, and found that the young Food Soul was right. Something else was underneath the packaging under the knife set. Careful not to slip and cut themselves, they lifted the knives out of the box and set them aside, then took out the newspaper and bubble wrap packaging.

Another knife, but not just another kitchen utensil. This one had a blade shaped like a typical chef’s knife, but longer than Khala’s forearm, in a leather sheath, the hilt pronounced enough that it wouldn’t slip, and the grip wrapped in strips of tanned leather. Like the others, it bore the Jinzotsu Bladesmiths’ logo on the rivets.

Unsheathing it, Khala was treated to a metallic song that rang in their ears like the funeral toll of a church bell. Just holding it felt dangerous, as they held it at arm’s length in order to take in the double-edged blade, with one edge curving towards the straighter one, forming a lethal point.

“That’s a weapon,” Black Tea breathed, eyes wide with awe.

“No shit,” Khala murmured, turning the blade this way and that, watching the way the light bounced off the steel. “There is no way my parents got me this. They barely even let me use proper steak knives.”

“It’s a traditional Attendant’s shortsword,” Zongzi said, making everyone look up at him. “I remember my previous Master Attendant had one similar. They’re very versatile in combat.”

Tom Yum immediately jumped in, eyes glowing with excitement, “Does that mean you can train with us now, Attendant?”

Khala nodded, “I guess it does.” A thoughtful smile alighted on their face. “You want to help give it a spin?”

“You bet! Zongzi, come on!”

* * *

> _Khala,_
> 
> _I know it’s been a while, but when I saw your name on this year’s list of graduates, I wanted to congratulate you on becoming a Master Attendant. It’s not an easy thing to do, and you should be really proud of yourself for that._
> 
> _You earned these blades, Squirt. I hope you make good use of them._
> 
> _Nana and Beans both miss you. We all do. Hopefully we can get back in touch. Make sure to take care of yourself, and make friends with the people you meet. How else do you think I got the knives?_
> 
> _But in all seriousness, stay safe. I'm not sure what else to put besides that._
> 
> _Love you Squirt._
> 
> _Your Uncle Ronin._
> 
> _P.S._ _Haruto_ _finally got that instant camera he was gushing over last time you were here. Hope you like the photos. Just ignore the ones I'm_ _in,_ _I_ _haven’t aged well_ _._

Though bittersweet, Khala couldn’t help but laugh at her Uncle’s words, written in his chickenscratch handwriting. All around them, photos were scattered on their bed, with one group photo of their Uncle Ronin and all his Food Souls grinning at the camera taking centre stage, the battered Nekite and his friends.

It had definitely been a while. Where was their notebook? It was past time they wrote a letter.


	6. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that Khala is a cat person?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time around. Based entirely around the fact that I chose the cat icon.
> 
> Also, I drew Khala but never mentioned it here. There are annotations, too.  
> https://hrhowling.tumblr.com/post/177521980900/forgive-the-crap-camera-quality-and-the-bad

No one really knew where Nekite came from. Some believed them to be a distant relative of the elves; the last survivors of their disappearance; an unknown civilisation that bled into the human world without notice; their history lost to time. Others called them the half-breeds of the World’s North; conglomerates of human and feline; bred for survival of the harshest of colds before creeping in south, joining the rest of Tierra in all that it endured.

Khala didn’t know the origin of their strain of humanity any better than anyone else. They just knew that Coffee’s cat jokes were getting old, and Omurice, despite the innocence of his eagerness to show everyone the latest in cat videos (a love that came only second to his obsession with that pop idol Jello), was not helping.

So no one commented on the way Coffee shrieked every time Khala jumped out at him from the storage crates. It was his own fault.


	7. Photo #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the photos that Ronin sent. The words 'i ship it' are scrawled onto the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to draw the photos that Khala got, and this is the first one. I loved doing this.

The flash made some of the colours  look a little off, but the lime green of Nana’s cardigan, and  Bean’s scarf and glasses were unmistakeable, even after over a decade .

_They look happy together,_ Khala thought, their eyes lingering on the flashing grins on the photo, caught in a firework moment of joy towards one another, and one another alone. They hadn't posed for this, Haruto must have gotten lucky, as Omurice were oft wont to do when it came to photography.  


Looking at this picture now, the stolen kisses in the kitchen during morning rush made a lot more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this makes up for the shortness of the last chapter. Also, let me know what you think of my art. Do you guys want more? Or should I focus more on the writing aspect of this?


	8. Welcome Present (Bento Dad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khala's first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carrying on with the short, plot-light chapters atm because I've started up college again, and I'm also working on a few bigger chapters and trying to pace them out nicely.
> 
> Credit for Kareem's name and such goes to @food-fantasy-house-and-board with their awesome Bento Dad headcanons.
> 
> I'm also planning on making more art for this. Enjoy!

Empty chairs. Empty tables. Empty restaurant.

That’s what Khala woke up to on their first morning living alone. They’d finished moving in late into the night, unpacking their belongings, looking up stock prices, checking they had all the equipment they needed and noting down what they didn’t have, and going to bed at an ungodly hour before waking up far too early for it to be considered comfortable. Bleary-eyed and clutching a cup of coffee, they shuffled about the emptiness, trying to take everything in. Not easy with just three hours of sleep under your belt.

Breakfast was sparing, and after getting dressed, Khala spent a half hour or so staring out of the window and drinking more coffee. They could regret the caffeine shakes later, when they were more awake.

They were caught off-guard by the sound of a hearty knock on the door. Looking up, they saw a big, bearded man through the glass, dressed in full chef’s attire (at this hour? Already?) and holding a basket in his arms. Peering over his shoulder appeared to be an Omurice, looking to be in his twenties with mismatched blue-brown eyes.

A frown creased Khala’s features. They hadn’t even taken down the obnoxious ‘SOLD’ sign on the front window, and they were getting visitors already? Shrugging, they got up to open the door and let them in.

The Omurice immediately leapt in, shouting, “Morning!” perhaps a little louder than Khala would have liked first thing in the morning.

“...Hi,” Khala managed, caught off guard by the Food Soul’s eagerness. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“My name is Kareem,” the big man introduced, holding out a beefy hand for Khala to shake. His beard was big. “I run the Delightful Bento House down the street. This is Ben, he helps me in the shop.”

“We wanted to bring you a welcome gift,” Ben said, pointing to the basket. He looked tiny compared to who Khala assumed was his Master Attendant. “Since you’re new to the area.”

“Thank you. Do you want to come in? I don’t have anything properly set up yet, but I’ve got tea and coffee in the kitchen.”

Kareem smiled, and shifted the basket in his arms, shifting the bulging napkin over it. Khala’s nose twitched at the scent of fresh pastry.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Kareem. He’s important later.


	9. Cat (II) Tail (Sanma)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd never really met a Nekite before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shortie. I got a few written up before the last chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one :)

He’d been feeding some strays in his usual alleyway when he felt the tug of a Summon. Pulling open one last tin of tuna, he let himself be brought to wherever his new Attendant may be.

But not before picking up Dolly and Mimi. He couldn’t leave them alone just yet.

A flash of light, and he found himself in a cosy little bedroom, with several more of his friends at his feet. He barely managed to glimpse a pair of wide brown eyes before his own were diverted back to the cats, who were eagerly crowding around a pair of blue slippers.

“Be careful,” he warned, “my friends are at your-. Oh... It seems they like you very much, um...”

He tailed off when he saw the... well...

...the tail. Long, black and coiling, it twitched under the playful paws of Mercury and Star as the Nekite it belonged to chuckled and fussed over them and the others.

Sanma Shioyaki couldn’t help but grin.


	10. Cat (III) Birds (Peking Duck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd keep an eye open...
> 
> Just in case...

There was an oversized cat on two legs in front of him, cooing over the children with big dark eyes and completely ignoring him.

It was definitely better than eating them, though. He'd give them that.

But he’d keep an eye on them regardless.

“You shall be our greatest warrior,” they giggled, holding up little Mallory and completely ignoring the bemused look they got from a newly summoned Peking Duck.


	11. There Are Limits (Sandwich, Tortoise Jelly, Others)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But I don't have an upper limit!"
> 
> A dangerous gamble leads to a lesson in consequences.  
> \---  
> This time around, we take a look at Khala's life later down the line, a little over a year and a half after first opening the Bistro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write this one for a while, and I'm glad to be able to put it out for you guys.
> 
> Current Food Souls of note:  
> -Boston Lobster (Summoned three months ago)  
> -Sandwich  
> -Toast  
> -Vodka  
> -Spicy Gluten  
> -Crab Long Bao  
> -Black Tortoise Jelly (Summoned a week ago)  
> -Raindrop Cake (Summoned a month ago)
> 
> (If anyone's interested in seeing a fully written timeline of events, then let me know)

Boston Lobster almost choked on the tension of the Bistro when he came back from a delivery operation with Spicy Gluten, Crab and Vodka. The two women noticed the dead silence as well, and unease fell over all of them as they readied their weapons and swept their eyes over the empty, lifeless dining area. 

Not a word passed between them as they split apart in separate directions to sweep the premises. It wouldn’t do to startle whatever Fallen Angel may be stalking about. Fallen Angels were the only explanation... 

...right? Boston thought as he tiptoed behind the counter, the quietest he’d ever been. There was something about imagining the Nekite Attendant’s reaction to him breaking the Bistro that put him off just barging through the place like he usually did. 

Something was rustling about in the kitchen. 

Slowly, he peered round the door. 

The Master Attendant was sat at the centre counter, their features stony and tail twitching. Opposite them was that irritating Sandwich who liked to make a wager out of everything. He looked frightened. 

They had an audience, spread around the outer workstations. Toast was leaning against the grill, looking smug, whilst the new guy, Black Tortoise Jelly, lurked next to him. There were a few others, including the mope in the wheelchair, but Boston wasn’t about to go off naming them all. 

Crab and Gluten  joined him at the door as the Attendant opened their mouth to speak. 

“What were you thinking?” 

Their tone was so cold it almost sent a shiver down Boston’s spine.  _A_ _lmost_. 

Sandwich was silent for a long time, fiddling with a deck of cards and snapping them together. 

“I was thinking I could win,” he said quietly. 

“And if you didn’t?” Master Attendant asked. 

Again, silence. All Sandwich did was shrink in on himself. The Master Attendant’s face morphed into a muted glare, the kind that human parents gave to their children when they’d caught them bullying other kids in the playground. Or something like that, Boston wasn’t too sure. 

Vodka walked in and poured herself a stiff drink. No one seemed to notice. 

“Do you have any idea what you could have done?” the cat continued. “How absolutely stupid and irresponsible and selfish you were being, by doing what you did?” 

“I’m sorry, I-.” 

The Attendant didn’t even let him finish, snapping, “Sandwich, you tried to gamble away the _entire bloody Bistro_! ‘Sorry’ doesn’t make the cut this time!” 

Boston’s eyes widened, _shit_... this was _big_. No wonder the restaurant was empty and everyone was stiffer than an ice-cold corpse’s hard-on. He may not care for human customs, but he at least had an understanding of ownership and personal value. 

The Nekite’s tail was thrashing about like a stabbed snake, their ears were pressed back and eyes narrow. 

“I could understand it at first,” they said, head bowed low. “It wasn’t serious. You could just shrug off any losses and be done with it. No one had to pay off your bloody debts, nothing more than a few of _your own_  Daouze were at risk, but now?” They looked up again. “It’s gone too far. 

“You could have cost us nearly _everything_ , Sandwich. Not just this Bistro, which I worked hard to get, but _our home_. Does that mean anything to you?” 

“Of course it does!” Sandwich protested, standing up so quickly that he overturned his chair. “It means a lot to me!” 

“Then why did you decide to gamble it away?” Master Attendant said. They didn’t raise their voice one notch, and Boston decided he’d rather have them yelling. Just watching someone else get this lecture was making him uncomfortable. “When it wasn’t yours to wager, at that. Things like this are meant to be _everyone’s_  decision, but you just took it all into your own hands without a care in the world.” 

“But-.” 

“You made this decision on your own, not even asking me or, anyone else. That sounds pretty careless to me.” 

Sandwich had nothing to say to that. He just picked up his chair and sat back down, looking pitiful, but Boston didn’t feel like giving him that. At this point, he felt pretty pissed as well. 

The Attendant looked at him for a long, agonising while, face gradually softening, but ears and tail no less agitated. They took a deep breath and let it out. 

“I’m confiscating your playing cards,” they decided firmly, making Sandwich freeze. “You can have them back when I decide you’ve learned your lesson. At the same time, I don’t want you to be going out gambling, or making stupid bets. If I hear you’ve put anything else at risk, there _will_  be consequences beyond losing your cards. Understand?” 

“I... I understand, Master Attendant,” Sandwich croaked, all the fight gone completely from his form as he took a deck of cards out of his pocket and slid them over the table towards the Master Attendant. 

“Good. We’re done for now. We can talk again later, in private. You can go and... calm down, now.” 

With a nod, Sandwich, got up and left. Master Attendant finally deflated and dropped onto the table. 

“That was fucking bad,” Vodka commented from where she was sipping at her drink. 

“Agreed,” Toast smirked, only for the Master Attendant to put that to an end about as severely as they’d ripped into Sandwich. 

“Wipe that fuckin’ smug look off your face, or I’ll get the scouring pad and do it myself,” they growled, tail flicking again. “I don’t care if you don’t like him or his habits, you don’t get to profit from his situation.” They turned their head towards the kitchen door. “How did the delivery go?” 

“Uneventfully,” Crab replied, clearly uncomfortable with what he’d witnessed. Surprisingly, Boston didn't blame him. 

“We ran over a Rabbert and a few Squidlings,” Gluten declared. “Andre got to eat, didn’t he, love?” 

Vodka nodded, “Yes. It was good snack for Andre.” 

“Glad you had fun,” the Master Attendant mumbled. “Go... do what you got to do, I need to clear my head. Gods know how fucked it feels right now.” 

* * *

 

“I feel like a bad person. Am I a bad person? I think today makes me a bad person.” 

Khala was hunched over a table in the Bistro’s seating lounge, with a coffee and Sandwich’s cards gleaming in front of them. One of Sanma’s cats (Dolly or Mimi, one of the two) was making muffins on their lap, whilst Tortoise Jelly sat on the chair opposite, sipping his own coffee and looking only mildly concerned. 

“What about today makes you think that?” he asked, and it was surprising to Khala just how gentle he was being about it. They hadn’t been able to get to know him all that well since he’d been Summoned last week. 

“The things I said to Sandwich. Dear fuck, he looked _crushed_...” 

“You did what needed to be done. And you did it well, actually.” 

“Really?” 

The black-haired Food Soul nodded, “Yes. You taught him a much-needed lesson about risk and the property of others. And consequences,” he added darkly. 

“I still feel like shit,” Khala groaned, head falling against the table with a thump. 

“Being a warden and teacher is never easy, my Attendant.” 

“Khala. Please, the last thing I want is to be called ‘Master Attendant’ right now. I feel like that teacher everyone hates and is too scared to go near. Now I know how Professor Attendant Galtroz must’ve felt.” 

“I wouldn’t see it that way... Khala, you handled the situation better than I could ever have expected from someone as young as you. Today, you were firm and disciplined, but from what I’ve seen, you’re also incredibly patient and understanding.” His eyes drifted back to his coffee. “I would... be proud to have you as a teacher.” 

“You’ve only known me for a week. Might want to hold the phone on that statement.” 

“I’m being serious, Khala.” 

“Thanks.” 

* * *

 

“I have never seen you quite like _that_ , Master Attendant. I like it.” 

Khala just let out a long-suffering groan. “Well, Gluten, I don’t. Your point? Please don’t try sexing me up again, I’m not in the mood.” 

Spicy Gluten frowned. The Master didn’t usually respond like _that_. They at least played along for a while. 

* * *

 

“Where the fuck did you get _that_ from? Your parents?” 

The ensuing pause didn't make Boston feel uncomfortable this time around, as the Master Attendant just fiddled with their fingers for a while. 

“I’m not sure... I fucking hope not,” they whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything against Sandwich as a whole, but the gambling was something that I wanted to explore, and it was an opportunity to shed some light on the more difficult parts of being a Master Attendant.
> 
> Also, I know that Toast isn't even released yet, and his wiki describes him as being mature and tolerant, but since Sandwich is in his Dislikes list, I wanted to include him in some way, and getting smug over Sandwich getting in trouble for destructive gambling felt fitting. Something tells me that's why Sandwich is there.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one.


	12. Painted Glass (Hotdog)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beautiful name needs a beautiful presentation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little more cheerful after the last one.
> 
> Hotdog was one of my first summons, and although I don't really use her, she's definitely a favourite. I figured she's the sort to enjoy calligraphy and hand-lettering alongside ink drawing, which is something I've been trying out.
> 
> So here's her time in the spotlight. Enjoy.

It seemed that there was beauty to be found in every aspect of her newest Attendant, from their name to the white spots marking the backs of their ears like they would a tiger, to the focused set of their lithe form when working in the kitchen. Black cats were difficult to capture, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try to capture the essence of Khala’s being.

Hotdog’s art had found a place with Hawthorne’s behind the counter, and there was something warm and lovely about that, seeing that her work was appreciated enough for her Attendant to want others to see it. Her previous Master had kept her on the frontlines, where art hadn’t had a place.

On top of the beautiful people, the Bistro had its own beauty to it, too. Perhaps a little lacking, but that was to be expected from a restaurant that hadn’t even been open a month. It was still settling, still working towards its own style.

But one thing irked her, just a little bit.

“Khala, darling,” she called one evening during closing.  “What are you planning to do with the front windows?”

From where they were scrubbing tables, Khala looked up to glance between Hotdog and the tall paned windows that gave passers-by a look into the Bistro. The one closest to the counter had the name of the Bistro painted on in white stencil letters, and the other had a set of couches and a coffee table in front of it, letting customers look outside as they enjoyed their tea and coffee.

“What about them?” they asked.

“Well, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but... it’s rather _dull_ , don’t you think?”

Another look at the windows. “Yeah, it... you’re probably right. But it was the best I could do, if I’m honest. Couldn’t really afford a professional.”

“Would you like me to do something?”

“Really?”

“Really. I just need some paint.”

* * *

 

A few days later, and the Bistro’s window had an entirely new look, with the name written bright and proud in looping scripture, the ‘o’s designed to look like moons and flowers decorating the emptier panes. At the bottom of the window was the pale, elegant silhouette of a cat, looking up at the lettering with big eyes.

Khala was grinning like a loon for the whole day, especially in the evening, when customers were commenting on the glowing signage.

“What’ll it take to bribe you into making some more displays for me?”

“Just a beautiful model, my dearest Attendant. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Paint me like one of your Light Kingdom girls.”

Khala's laughter was probably the most beautiful thing about them.


	13. A Letter (Miso Soup)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little less than a month into life at the Bistro, Khala receives an unwelcome reminder of where they came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More exposition on Khala! And it's not good, so making it Chapter 13 is fitting!

“Master Attendant, the post has arrived!”

“Could you put it in the drawer, please? I’ll have a look at them when I’ve finished these rolls.”

“Of course. It seems like most of these are the month’s bills, and-. Oh, hello.”

Khala paused. “What was that, Miso?”

For some reason, Miso Soup had a wicked grin on his face as he scanned the letter. “Master Attendant, come take a look at the _lovely_ handwriting on this one. Very fancy, and it comes with a wax seal.” He turned the letter over, “Where’s it from?”

“Miso, what the fuck are you going on about?”

“Oh my, it’s from all the way in the West-Central District. That’s the rich part of Gloriville, isn’t it?”

Khala stiffened. Their ears dropped flat against their head. “Miso…” they growled, turning to face him fully. “Don’t…”

“Now, who in Tierra would send you a letter from there, hmm? An admirer? A scandalous secret love?”

“Miso,” Khala warned, louder this time. But they went ignored as Miso slipped a letter opener out from the kitchen drawer. “Don’t you fucking dare!” they snarled.

Just as Miso was teasing the seam of the envelope with the letter opener, Khala marched towards him and snatched it from his hand, not even wincing when they caught their hand on the blade and drew blood.

Miso could only blink in shock, staring at Khala as they glared back, breathing heavily. “Master Attendant?”

“Stay out of my business, Miso,” Khala growled. “I mean it, okay?”

“I-I was only teasing.”

“Well, next time, don’t. It’s personal; the people who wrote this don’t have anything nice to say about what I do.”

“Oh...”

Upon seeing Miso’s guilty, shameful look, Khala deflated. “I’m sorry,” they admitted. “I overreacted, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“It’s fine, Khala. _I_ should have been more respectful.”

“As long as you don’t do it again. Please, I want to approach this when I’m ready. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry, Master Attendant.”

“It’s alright. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the first-aid kit.”

* * *

 

> _Son,_
> 
> _I hope that you are well, and that business is going smoothly for you. Since you have changed your email address and failed to give it to me, I have had to resort to postage. Hopefully this issue can be rectified._
> 
> _Your grandmother is wondering if you would like to visit us for dinner sometime. Please let us know, and if_ _you_ _email me, we can discuss_ _what we’ll have. Maybe you can also pick up your remaining belongings as well, or arrange for them to be collected._
> 
> _Feel free to contact me and your mother when you need something._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Your father_

Khala wanted to take all the pencils in the building and snap them one by one, and then do the same with a crate of carrots. The pencils could be sharpened. They could use the carrots in a soup tomorrow.

_The motherfucking nerve..._

That night, Miso Soup and Tempura found the viciously torn-up remnants of an envelope with a wax seal lying at the top of the tinder basket for Bistro lounge’s fireplace. Stamped on the green wax was a single pine tree encircled by a pointed crown over a banner marked with the words,

“Nemo silva lignum est” Tempura read off, having to squint at the small text. “I wonder what that means.”


	14. "Death-nicality" (Milk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One question has always loomed over people's heads regarding Food Souls...
> 
> No one really wants to answer it...  
> \---  
> Warning for temporary character "death". This one takes place not long after chapter 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I noticed that the game sprites disappear when your souls go down. This happened.
> 
> Also, shitty puns and wordplay!

The technicalities of Food Souls were a mystery, for the most part. In the many years since their discovery, there were still countless unanswered questions about them. Where exactly did they come from? Where did they go when waiting for their Attendants to Summon them? Just how long had they existed, before humanity discovered them? Had they even existed at all, before then? Were they just… made? All these questions pressed for answers, but the most pressing one, the one that loomed over everyone’s heads, was the one that no one asked. 

What was Death to a Food Soul? 

It was the question a mortified Khala asked themselves the first time they saw the gathering team lose a member. Milk had thrown herself in the way of an attack meant for Black Tea, and Khala had barely had time to shout before the Food Soul’s body had hit the floor, limp as blood trickled from her nose and mouth. 

The rest of the battle had been a blur, or maybe it had just taken a few moments to end, but by the time it did, Khala was on the verge of tears and had to run to the nearest bush before they threw up on someone. When they came back, shaking and swaying on their feet, Milk’s body was gone. 

“Master Attendant,” Black Tea said as she walks up to the dazed Attendant. “Are you alright?” 

Khala just blinked, at her, stuttering, “She- She just… I-I… is she..?” 

Surprisingly (or not), the Food Soul wasn’t fussed about the slaughter of her teammate. “Milk is fine. We all are as long as we have an Attendant to return to.” She frowned. “Didn’t you know that?” 

Khala swallowed hard. “I… I knew, I learned, there were classes, but… but I’ve never… seen this… I…” 

Zongzi stepped in, “She’ll be fine, Attendant. You’ll get used to seeing us go down. It’s like you learned; as long as you continue on, so do we. Milk will be back soon enough. Trust us.” 

“Okay… Okay…” 

It took a while for Khala to pull themselves back together, but with Tom Yum going on about the parts of the fight he assumed they’d missed, and Zongzi holding them steady, they calmed down enough to head home. 

Something was following them, but whenever Khala looked back to try and spot their pursuer, there was nothing there. If the others noticed anything off about the way they held their ears back for the whole trip, then they said nothing. 

Whatever was following them wasn’t… a thing, per say. Every time it got close enough for Khala to feel, it… it had no substance, no form… it barely even felt real, but at the same time, it was... familiar. There was a gentle chill to it, and there was no feeling of malice behind it. Eventually, Khala forgot that it was there. 

For a time, at least. It came back when they got home, huddling up to Khala’s side as they busied themselves in the kitchen, making pastry for the cinnamon-pear tart recipe they’d been planning to experiment with. As they cut circles out of the dough, they noticed that their hands were shaking violently. 

Their knees followed suit, and they had to sit down. In response, that cool, collected presence draped over them, and they got the feeling of concern and comfort from it. 

“M’fine,” they mumbled in response to the... shift, was the only word they could really think of. “Just... shaken up. It was... hard... seeing you...” 

 

> _“Something wrong, snapper?”_  
> 
>  _“Why does Uncle Ronin talk to himself all the time?”_  
> 
>  _A raised eyebrow and the curious snap of claws that had yet to dissipate. Captain got a flicked ear in response._  
> 
>  _“What makes y’think he’s talking to himself?”_  
> 
>  _“He’s talking, but there’s no one in the room. Father says that_ _kinda_ _-_ kind of _... Father says that that..._ _that_ _sort of thing means he’s crazy.”_  
> 
>  _“What’s he saying?”_  
> 
>  _“He thinks he’s talking to someone called Bonnie_ _right now_ _.”_  
> 
>  _A look of realisation dawns on Captain’s face, and he offers a rare smile of reassurance. It looks weird on him._  
> 
>  _“He’s_ _talkin_ _’ to Cat Rice, kid. Dumbass got himself beat to shit again and_ _poofed_ _.”_  
> 
>  _Merrick_ _heard him from the other end of the room, “Boston! Stop swearing in front of the kit!”_  
> 
>  _“Get off my back, Poppins! Snapper’s old enough to know-.”_  
> 
>  _“He’s six! And he’s not the only one, you know how Nana gets when you say things like that in front of the little ones!_ _He was ticked when the Tofu twins filled the swear jar in a day!”_  
> 
>  _“Oh, lighten up-.”_  
> 
>  _“You need to put a_ _Daouze_ _in the swear jar now, Mister Boston.”_  
> 
>  _“Huh?”_  
> 
>  _“Swear jar. You need to put a_ _Daouze_ _in.”_  
> 
>  _“…Kid… kid, you’re killing me.”_  
> 
>  _“You heard the_ _boss’s nephew_ _,_ _Captain_ _!”_  
> 
>  _“Fine!_ _You’re both assholes.”_  
> 
>  _“Two_ _Daouze_ _.”_  
> 
>  _“_ _Aaaafgh_ _!”_  
> 
> * * *
> 
> _“Bonnie went down in a fight earlier. That’s why Ronin’s talking to him.”_  
> 
>  _“Is he dead?”_  
> 
>  _“No, hun_ _._ _He_ _just_ _got_ _hurt_ _pretty bad,_ _so his body disappeared so he could fix it._ _R_ _right_ _now, he’s got no_ _physical form_ _, but Ronin knows he’s there, so they talk._ _He does it for all of us_ _.”_  
> 
>  _“I don’t get it.”_  
> 
>  _“You will eventually. Don’t worry too much.”_  
> 
>  _“Will I be like that,_ _Merrick_ _? When I become a Master Attendant?”_  
> 
>  _“_ _Oh, if you’re anything like your uncle_ _, Khala._ _You will.”_  

“Dear Lordy fuck, I am exactly like him, aren’t I?” 

Confusion. 

“Milk… you need to come back soon, otherwise everyone’ll think I’ve lost the plot.” 

 _Soon. Soon. I’m feeling much better, Master Attendant._  

“I’ll believe that when I can hug you and yell at you for giving me a heart attack at twenty-four.” 

 _Okay._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed those flashbacks. This one was fun! Cake for anyone who guesses what kind of Soul Merrick is.


	15. So-Called 'Destiny' (Foie Gras)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khala hadn't expected to summon a UR Soul only two months after becoming an Attendant. They also hadn't expected the resulting frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you Kareem would be important later.
> 
> This one's been waiting to be published for a while now, and I figured this was the right time.
> 
> Also, Joel is the Omurice that you Summon in-game, and subsequently he's the one Khala Summoned. Read his backstory, it's depressing as hell.

Khala didn’t like getting involved in the military side of being a Master Attendant. Kareem always got a haunted look in his eyes when they brought up the Chef’s Guild’s military operations, and they remembered Uncle Ronin saying that going straight into the frontline operations was one of the worst decisions he’d ever made. As such, Khala did their best to avoid the subject whenever Olivia came by to ~~poke her nose where it wasn’t wanted~~ check on them. 

And they managed to do so, at least until their success as a Master Attendant became evident. The shock of summoning Foie Gras (a fucking UR Soul, of all the bloody chances) out of nowhere, with no Shards or Fusion involved, was, according to Olivia, a surefire sign that Khala was “meant to do fantastic things for the cause” and every visit after that became about nothing but ‘the cause’ and what ‘good’ Khala could do in the frontlines. 

It pissed them off, honestly. 

“Why don’t you go?” Foie Gras asked one evening after another of Olivia’s increasingly frustrating visits, whilst Khala was angrily making bread. “If she says you’re meant for it, who are we to deny fate?” 

“Because it’s not fate,” Khala huffed, not having the heart to admit what they really thought of the whole ‘fate’ thing. “She’s not some grand authority on the matter. I’ll join the big fight when I’m ready, and no one will tell me otherwise.” They frowned, ears dipping back as they turned to face the elegant Soul. “You’ve not seen how Kareem gets when people bring up… _that part_ of being an Attendant, have you?” 

“I’m afraid not. Why?” 

“Well… I don’t know the details, but… whatever happened… it wasn’t pleasant.” Their ears dipped further. “He told me not to get involved to soon, that it wasn’t worth it, and… I’m inclined to agree.” 

There was a long moment where neither person spoke; Khala busy kneading dough, and Foie Gras lost in thought. 

“I think I understand,” she said slowly. “Thank you, Khala.” 

Khala gave a relieved smile. “You’re welcome. Uh, could you grab the olive oil from that rack over there?” 

* * *

 

A week later, Foie Gras went on a rare walk on her own, meandering through the streets with no particular destination in mind, ignoring the stares she received from passers-by. Vague recollections of her previous Contract told her that this was nothing new. 

As fate would have it, she found herself hovering outside the Delightful Bento House. At first, she made to carry on towards the Urban Moon, but a thought struck her as she glimpsed the other establishment’s owner in the window, laying out the day’s lunch spread alongside a handsome-looking Omurice. She contemplated the thought, eventually deciding that following up on it would be beneficial, and went inside. 

A bell signalled her entry, and Kareem and the Omurice both looked up to see her. Kareem walked to the counter to greet her, his big frame dwarfing her as usual. 

“Hello, Kareem,” she said softly, setting her staff against the coat stand. 

Kareem smiled at her, but... there was something sad about that look. There always was when she was around. “Hello to you too, my lady. What brings you here?” He chuckled, “Fate?” 

Foie Gras smiled back, “Something of the sort.” She glanced over to Omurice (Benjamin, that was his name), who had gone back to working on the display. “I have something to ask of you, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course, anything for a friend of Khala’s. Ben, could you handle the display on your own for a moment?” 

“Yup.” 

“Thank you. Take a seat, Foie. Would you like some tea?” 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” 

“Just a moment, then. Make yourself comfortable, there are some pillows under the seat if you want one.” 

* * *

 

Kareem got the tea, and at some point, Ben decided he’d much rather be involved in the upcoming conversation than work, and joined Foie Gras at the table. 

“So what was it you wanted to talk about?” Kareem asked as he poured tea into china cups. Ben was munching down on cookies. 

“I wanted to ask you about the Chef’s Guild,” Foie said, “and the military work. Khala says you told them not to get involved.” 

She felt, rather than saw, Kareem and Ben freeze up at what she said. The ensuing silence was very, very cold, and she couldn’t help the way her wings fluttered with how uncomfortable she felt. 

Ben put down the cookie in his hand, glanced over at Kareem and-, “Shit, Kar. Kar, it’s overflowing. Put the tea down, it’s overflowing.” 

Foie blinked. She’d never, ever heard any of Kareem’s Food Souls curse before, especially not Ben. Not even the sour-tempered Boston Lobster who lived under Kareem’s roof used such foul language. 

Kareem startled back into reality, and abruptly put the teapot down on the table, hard enough to make the cups rattle. Silence descended upon the company once more. 

“I’ll get some tissues,” Ben murmured, leaving the table. He wasn’t smiling like he usually did. 

Foie Gras didn’t know what to do as Kareem sat down in front of her, his eyes dark and face creased with unhappiness. 

“Please,” Kareem began, his voice hoarse. “Understand that I don’t discourage this out of malintent. Khala deserves to make their own choices; to live. The frontlines would end that. 

“You see, I went straight into it. Biggest mistake of my life.” He shook his head. “I saw so many lives be cut short. So many Souls falling before their new stories had even really begun. Eune...” 

“Not your fault,” Ben said sharply, still mopping up tea despite there being none left to clean away. 

Kareem just looked up at Foie with a deep, unyielding sorrow drowning his eyes. “Working the military operations, especially the frontlines, where things get bloody... it does things to you. You're forced to change, to do awful things to survive. 

“I don’t like who I became back then. None of us do. And I don’t want anyone to go through what I have. Not so soon, and especially not without it being _their_ _choice_.” 

“Oh,” was all Foie said as she looked into her tea, the darkness of it seeming to be endless in this forlorn moment. 

“People like to make the military work sound glorious. Like some great service rich with rewards.” 

“It’s really not,” Ben murmured, and it suddenly struck Foie Gras just how _old_ he was compared to Joel, Khala’s Omurice. He was a grown man; young, but... still grown. And tired. Dear gods... he looked far beyond his years. It felt wrong... 

“I won’t stop Khala if they choose to go,” Kareem explained. “But it needs to be their choice. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Foie said. “I just... I want to help, though.” 

“Then do the things people don’t see. Build outposts, clear away territories, establish trade routes. It’s not glorious, but it matters more than just beating away whatever Fallen come knocking on the door. You’ll be getting to the root of the problem.” 

“...How? Please, tell me how.” 

For the first time in what felt like centuries, but was probably not even ten minutes, Kareem allowed himself a smile. 

“Go fetch Khala real quick. I have a feeling that they might be interested in what I have to tell you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: somehow, I managed to pull Foie Gras before I completed all the Benefits quests that let me have her for free regardless, so the 40 Shards I got were pretty cool.


	16. Sugar Cube (New Soul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khala ends up Summoning a "rare occurrence". Chaos ensues. B-52 is on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an idea that was rolling about in my mind for a while, and I liked it enough to write several chapters revolving around the concept.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Not sure when this takes place, probably a year after Khala becomes an Attendant.

The flash of light that signalled a successful new Summoning was much, much brighter than usual, and almost blinded Khala with how forceful it was against their eyelids. 

But when they finally managed to blink away the ocean of spots that obscured their vision, nothing was there. 

This one was going to be as late as Coffee, wasn’t-? 

“AAAAAAIIEEEAACH!!” 

Aaaand Tempura was screaming at something, and something _else_ was making a fuckton of noise. Khala’s ears dropped, shit, what was going on? Groaning in exasperation, they got up and rushed downstairs and to the back yard. The new Food Soul could wait. 

There was a horse in the courtyard. Tempura was shouting at it, Brownie had dropped a teapot from shock, B-52 was on the fucking _roof_ , wings flapping about in distress, and Khala was gaping at the entire clusterfuck of a spectacle they’d just walked into. The only calm people in the garden were the horse itself and Black Tea, who was fussing over it and stroking its nose. 

It seemed that literally everyone wanted to know what was going on, because Boston charged out of the Bistro with that very question booming from his lungs. 

He also had several ice packs taped to his forehead and bare chest, but no one was about to comment on that unless they didn’t care for their limbs. 

“Everybody shut up!” 

And they did. Mainly because it was Milk who had yelled the order, louder than anyone had ever heard her, from on top of the horse’s back. It was enough to stun even Boston Lobster into silence. 

“You’re upsetting him,” she said simply. As if in agreement, the horse snickered, and Khala finally got to get a proper look at it. This snowy white animal was huge, with hooves the size of the serving platters Khala used for buffet spreads, and a heavy, sloped face. Dark eyes looked about the garden with unnerving intelligence, shadowed by a long white mane, and dappled flanks twitched with every breath. 

“Where the hell did he _come from_?” Khala flustered. Their knees felt weak. Where was the nearest chair? 

“You must have Summoned him,” Black Tea supplied. There was a rare smile on her face as she ran her hands through the horse’s mane, “And he decided to show up here instead of your room.” 

“I was Summoning Food Souls, not a _horse_!” 

“Master Attendant, Sugar Cube _is_ a Food Soul.” 

Khala blinked. “Y... you’re kidding me, right? Food Souls can have animal forms, too? Why wasn’t I told this?!” 

“It’s a very rare occurrence,” Milk explained. She looked exceedingly comfortable from her perch on Sugar Cube’s back. “But it happens. Some of us just prefer other shapes.” 

“Huh.” 

“Would you like to say hello?” Black Tea asked. “He likes meeting new people. Don’t you, Sugar?” 

Neigh. 

* * *

 

Sugar Cube needed to be housed in a local stable, at least until something could be properly sorted out at the Bistro so that he could be called upon sooner if the need arose. 

But before Black Tea could take him out to the rented stall at the edge of the city, nearly everyone wanted a ride on him. The kids were all gleeful at the chance, and Napoleon Cake was certainly feeling smug as he looked down on everyone for once. All the while, Coffee was bouncing about and grinning as he held out pocketful after pocketful of sugar cubes for the giant horse to snack on. 

“I take it those two are close,” Khala smirked as they and Chocolate watched the blond act more like a child than the actual children. 

Chocolate just chuckled, “I think the horse brainwashed him into it.” 

“You’re right. He would never act like this otherwise. How long until this can be used for blackmail?” 

“I’d give it three days.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys want to see more animal Souls? I've got three more waiting to be Summoned!
> 
> And I do want to draw Sugar Cube sooner or later, but until then, if you want an idea of what he looks like, he's a sort of mix between a Fresian horse and an Irish Draught horse. Big but graceful.


	17. Cat (IV) Hissing (Red Wine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awful reek of copper always seemed to be at its best when it came from those that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun one! I don't have Red Wine yet, but I've listened to his lines a bunch of times. And a little more on Khala, too!
> 
> Enjoy

There was the smell of hot copper in the air. Faint as anything, but no less alluring; no less mouth-watering as he perked up, trying to find the source of it.

It smelled so good... He had to have a taste...

Red Wine’s predatory gaze drifted over to the battered form of a Nekite, with blood streaking down its face, sticking one of its eyes shut. Various other cuts and wounds littered its body, and it was distracted pulling an especially large knife out of the carcass of a Fallen Angel.

A flicker, and he was looming over the cat’s back, teeth bared, ready to plunge them into its neck and drain it dry.

Ears twitched (he knew those moon-spots from somewhere…) and a knife was being held up against his face before he could do anything. He let out a hiss of disdain, but was suddenly cut off by a louder, far more feral sound than even he could muster in this… disgusting state…

Master Attendant (that’s who they are. Were you just about to..?) was glaring at him with an inhuman hostility, pupils narrowed to needle-thin slits, sharp teeth (bigger than his) bared in a snarl that he’d never seen on their face before. It was enough to snap him out of his own descent into bloodlust. That, and Steak roughly dragging him away before anything could get... out of hand. The Master was also taken to the side by Laba Congee, still growling and spitting like an animal. One of their ears was ripped, their side was soaked in red.

He looked away before any other thoughts could pop into his head, grateful for the firm grip on the collar of his coat.

It was not a good thing, what had just transpired. But at least he knew that the Master could defend themselves... somewhat. Hopefully it would be enough once it counted.


	18. Black & White Russian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look. They're cats too!

At first, Khala thought that they’d left the door open, or maybe some of Sanma’s cats had been dozing in their room like they often did, and had come out to investigate the localised chaos that Summons usually brought about.

But their door was closed, these were the only cats in the room, and Khala had never seen them before. Two beautiful colourpoints that didn’t fit in with the usual strays that Sanma took in, they sauntered over to Khala’s feet, winding around their ankles with purrs rumbling in their chests.

It was a double Summon, like the Scoops. Black and White Russian. Black would hardly look out of place draped over a Coffee’s shoulders, with his rich mahogany coat and languid grace, whilst White presented herself like a queen; blue eyes haughty and smoky tail held high.

“Something tells me Vodka will like you both.”


	19. First Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the Attendant needs to get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of an action chapter this time, with a warning for blood and copious swearing. Enjoy!

When Tom Yum went down, Khala felt the coldest feeling of ‘oh fuck’ grip their bones. The Fallen Angel they were facing had flung him against a tree and sent him and the tree flying. He didn’t make it to the ground before his body had dispersed into light and dust.

Zongzi could only take so much before he followed suit, leaving Sake, Milk and Black Tea vulnerable to lethal harm. The Fallen was suffering itself, but that seemed to have made things worse, as it threw everything it had at Khala's remaining teammates with unbridled ferocity, battering them down to their limits, and Khala could only watch helplessly as Milk desperately struggled to keep everyone afloat.

“Sake, look-! _Fuck_!”

Khala screamed in horror and frustration as the Fallen fired a dripping red quill through Sake’s chest, and his battered form finally gave in on itself. With one last look of pain and regret, he dispersed into nothing.

Black Tea would be next, and then Khala’s heart stuttered at the thought of what would happen after they lost her...

The holstered blade at their hip felt heavy.

But their hands itched to curl around the handle. A desperate rage burned in their chest.

They had to do something.

“Oi!” they yelled, and bulging red eyes snapped onto them. The blade was held high, flashing an angry, unusual red and definitely, certainly, pissing it off. “Over here, you bony fuckin’ walnut!”

With a snarl, the Fallen Angel turned and lumbered over towards them. Black Tea and Milk both screamed out, telling them to ‘stop, don’t do this, you’ll get yourself killed!’, and Khala could feel Sake’s panic at the back of their mind, but they stood their ground.

“Come on, fucktwat! I’m over here!”

An injured Black Tea was frantically shooting at the Fallen Angel’s back, but Khala’s insults must have hit a particular nerve, because it just shook off the offending projectiles and carried on towards the yelling Attendant.

Tom Yum was begging them to run. They didn’t.

It was right on top of them when Khala finally ducked out of the way, and with a bloodcurdling yowl, slammed their knife into its throat. Blood spewed everywhere, soaking their clothes, their fur, getting into their mouth, _everywhere_. Above them, the Fallen Angel was twitching and convulsing, wet gurgles dripping from its jaws. It managed to kick Khala in the shins, forcing them to stumble away as it made to escape.

But not before Khala grabbed their knife back. No fucking way was that thing running off with it. More blood cascaded to the ground, and Khala very nearly slipped on it. They were shaking. It was hard to breathe. Their mouth felt rotten with Fallen blood. Hopefully it all washed out...

“Master Attendant!”

Black Tea and Milk were both rushing towards them, the former propped up on her partner’s shoulder and limping, both of them wide-eyed with shock and adrenaline, firing question after question about their health and _were they hurt, what were they thinking_?!

“M’okay,” Khala mumbled, slowly sinking to the floor as their knees couldn’t hold their weight anymore. They could feel the others fussing over them, as noncorporeal as they were. “It kicked me, and I’m marinating in its blood, but... I’m okay.”

“That thing could have _killed_ you,” Black Tea snapped, pointing at the Fallen Angel, which was struggling to get anywhere with a gushing puncture in its jugular. “Did you have any idea what you were doing?”

“Helping,” was the croaked reply. “If you went down, so would I. Had to do something.”

“That was really stupid,” Milk said honestly. “But it worked, so... thank you.”

“Just doing what I had to do. Ugh, I feel disgusting. Where’s the nearest river?”

Black Tea didn’t look impressed. “Master Attendant, please take this seriously.”

“I am taking it seriously. I don’t want to pick mushrooms covered in this shit.”

“You still want to gather ingredients? After _that_?” Black Tea pointed at the Fallen Angel again. It wasn’t moving anymore. A puddle of blood was turning into a lake underneath it.

“We need it if the Bistro is going to stay afloat. Besides, I can handle myself. If we lay low, we should be okay, especially if the others make it back before I’m done.”

“Khala,” Black Tea implored, and the Master Attendant couldn’t help but twitch at the sound of her finally using their name. “What if there’s more of them? There’s only so much we can handle at this point.”

Khala frowned, and there was a long, stubborn moment of silence before they relented.

“Okay. Let’s go home. But I still want to wash as much of this off before it dries. Sound good?”

“Wonderful. We can try again tomorrow.”

“Good plan. Thanks.”


	20. Cat (V) - Teeth (Chocolate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real smiles were the one that made him feel warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double update, because it's been a hot minute since the last one.

There were days when Khala didn’t smile. Not properly, at least. On these occasions, such an expression was usually held back, restrained as if they were afraid to let something show. It didn’t seem as if they ever noticed it happening, but... Chocolate certainly did. Seeing a damper on his new Attendant’s smile was… disconcerting, to say the least, and he just wanted them to feel that they could smile without covering it or restraining it.

So whenever it seemed that Khala was having a day when smiling was difficult, he did everything he could to help them. Instigating tickle fights, prank wars, cheesy compliments, awful, _awful_ pickup lines; he pulled out all the stops and didn’t hold back, and every time he saw the gleam of that smile, he felt warm inside.

“I could look at that smile forever, you know.”

They were alone in the kitchen; the Bistro having closed an hour early due to how quiet it was. Khala was busy testing recipes for a set of cupcakes that a woman had ordered for her mother’s birthday. There were four different flavours to sort out, and Khala was currently mixing up some red velvet batter for later judgement. The lime and coconut ones were cooling on a rack, and another tray of chocolate cupcakes were baking in the oven. Chocolate had just finished rattling off his latest batch of bad pickup lines, making the Nekite grin in a way they hadn’t done all day.

“Even with these things?” Khala smirked, opening their mouth to show off a set of sharp white teeth, long canines gleaming in the kitchen light. Any self-respecting cat would be proud of such a show.

“They add character,” Chocolate remarked, only for Khala’s grin to fade, taking his with it.

“It’s good to know at least someone likes them,” Khala muttered, still smiling, but... there was a bitterness to it. “Never really got that back in West-Central. Wasn’t ‘proper’.”

“Oh...” He felt something ugly twist about in his chest, coiling around his heart. “Who..?”

“People,” was all Khala said. “I’m glad I came here, you know.”

“That’s... that’s good. Really.”

“Yeah. It is. Hey, what do you think of these ones? Lime and coconut. The blue is just food colouring; they asked for an ocean theme.”

The shift was abrupt, and not at all subtle, and Chocolate felt distinctly unsettled by it. But Khala was already pushing a blue cupcake towards him, eyes telling him to drop the subject.

“It’s over,” was the last thing they said about it. “You don’t need to get involved.”


	21. In with the Rain (Raindrop Cake)

As he blinked away the light in his eyes, the aching melancholy settled back in as he was returned to reality. Everything burned and his umbrella felt heavy in his lap. Insense floated in the air around him. He heard rain pattering against glass windows. 

“Hey.” 

It was strong, and rang in his head like thunder and bells. Stunning, almost. He looked up to see its owner, his new Master. 

He? She? They? Looked like the voice. A solid stance, bright eyes, quietly comfortable in their self-assurance, just like... 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, making an ear flick with likely disgust. “In this pathetic state, do I even deserve to be called a Food Soul?” 

His new Master’s eyes widened in confusion. Such beautiful eyes, like roasted coffee beans. “Who says you’re not a Food Soul?” 

He had no answer for that. The Master continued, 

“Hey, it’s fine. My name’s Khala.” They held out a hand. “What about you?” 

With some hesitation, and a shaky grip on his composure, he accepted the offered handshake. 

“I... Raindrop Cake.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Raindrop Cake.” 


	22. Shopping (Toso)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toso Wine goes shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place maybe a little bit before 'There are Limits'. I... need to write a proper timeline :|

There was a market square near the Bistro that Khala liked to visit in search of new ideas for the menu. It was a bustling hub of activity, selling wares of all sorts, from food to assorted knicknacks, and it drew in a wide variety of different people, who either wanted to start conversation regarding recipes or argue over who got the last snow-globe. Khala avoided the latter.

More often than not, they also had a small trail of Food Souls following them to the market as well, much like Peking and his ducklings. Coffee came along with the intention of helping Khala find potential new suppliers for the Bistro, but it was a guarantee that he’d come back home with a new scarf for his collection. Sake liked perusing the artisan wines, and took Jiuniang to look at the flower stall and the stall where Coffee got his scarves. Bamboo Rice would pelt off to the dimmer corners of the market to look at hunting equipment. He'd yet to buy anything, though.

"Coffee. Coffee, you need to get a better place to keep these scarves. The coat rack can’t fit them all.”

* * *

 

Khala was halfway through pulling on their coat when Toso walked into the kitchen, looking curious.

“Where are you headed, Attendant?” She asked.

“I’m going to the market. You want to come? I know a few good wine stalls.”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

The market was crowded, even at this hour in the morning, when the fish were fresh in their iced stalls and flatbreads still hot from the flame-bake. Vendors were shouting prices whilst shoppers bartered for items, trading anything from food to furniture for money or items of equal value. Toso could see children snacking on candied nuts and cakes whilst their parents enjoyed samosas and fruit.

“This place is pretty popular,” she remarked. Next to her, Spaghetti was glaring at a gaggle of teenagers who were all staring at his weapon.

“There’s a lot to get here,” Khala said, giving Spaghetti a firm elbow to the shoulder while they spoke. “You’re scaring the kids, asshole. Let them be impressed by the giant fork.”

Spaghetti said nothing, and Khala continued,

“Most of the food stalls are over there,” they said, pointing in the direction of the stalls. “There’s a guy who sells some really good wines next to a lady who makes sticky bamboo rice, you want to take a look? I’m going to look at some of the fish stalls, one of them sells crayfish and I want to find out who her supplier is.”

Toso nodded, “Sounds good. I’ll see you later.”

“Cool. You got your money?”

She held up the jangling coin purse containing her wages. Three months’ worth, and promising a lot of artisan wine. “Yep.”

“Great. We’ll meet back here in an hour, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll see you then.”

The group split up, Toso going alone straight to the wine stall whilst Jiuniang and Cold Rice Shrimp pulled Yellow Wine along to look at what they wanted before he could go his own way. Khala took Spaghetti with them to wherever they were going.

Four stalls, countless samples, and two wine crates’ worth of cash spent later, and Toso was on her way to where she’d left the others when another stall caught her eye.

An idea came to mind, and a glance told her that Khala and Spaghetti were already back, the former with a writhing net of crayfish in hand. They kept giving the redhead an unhappy look, until she walked over and they went back to their usual mild smile.

“Find anything good?” they asked, and Toso held up both wine crates for display. Spaghetti rolled his eyes in disdain, and Toso considered the consequences of smashing a bottle over his head. Wasted wine and a lecture. Not worth it.

“I just want to get one more thing first,” she said. “Could you keep an eye on these for a moment?”

“Yeah, of course. The others might be a while longer, so there’s no need to rush.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.”

No longer weighed down by twelve bottles of artisan wine, Toso quickly made her way back to the stall she’d seen. It was a cutely decorated craft stall, run by an old lady wearing a woollen shawl, and her apparent assistant; a young boy with a purple waistcoat and hair. There was an umbrella propped up against the lady’s chair, glittering slightly.

“Hi, Miss!” the boy piped, his lavender eyes sparkling the way children do. “You wanna buy something? Gramma made them herself.” He pushed forward one of the tchotchkes for Toso to get a better look. It was a wirework cat, with green glass eyes that winked in the late morning sun.

“They’re pretty,” Toso remarked, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards at the boy’s enthusiasm. She let her eyes wander over the selection of paperweights and models for a moment before settling back on the one that had caught her attention earlier. “How much for this one?”

“That’ll be seven Daouze, darling,” the old woman said sweetly. She was almost as small as the boy, and Toso dwarfed both of them. “My nephew from the Light Kingdom made those ones.”

“Is it a gift? Do you want me to wrap it?” the boy asked, bouncing like a ball with a massive grin on his face, almost pleading. “I’ve been practising really hard. And it’s free!”

Honestly, who can resist that? Toso asked herself. Only a heartless dickwad (Spaghetti) would say no, so she nodded and said “sure thing, kiddo”. She saw fireworks in his eyes as he eagerly ducked down to grab some tissue paper, a little bag and some sticky tape, and set about wrapping Toso’s purchase in blue paper whilst she passed the money to Gramma.

“Cute kid,” she said, and the lady nodded in sage agreement. The kid in question was struggling to find the end of the tape. “What’s your name?”

“Tipper,” the boy said absently, his attention focused on wrapping. His tongue was poking from the corner of his mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Toso turned to the old woman. “You get a lot of business?”

“Usually after school hours,” the woman replied. “Folks like to bring their kids here. They like the shiny things.”

“Nice.”

“Done!” Tipper piped, presenting the wrapped package in a pastel purple bag.

“Good job, kid.”

“I hope your someone likes it.”

“I’m sure he will.”

* * *

When Toso got back to the Bistro, she went straight to her room. It was a downstairs bedroom with a bunkbed, connected bathroom and a desk in the corner. She’d kept it fairly spartan, the only real décor being a weapons rack, wine cupboard and a few posters.

Her roommate hadn’t done anything to add to it, even after two weeks being here. Maybe she could talk to him about repainting the walls.

“Hey,” she greeted, placing her wines on the desk. “How’ve you been?”

Raindrop Cake had barely looked at her when she’d come in, but the question seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he’d been in whilst staring out of the window. Had he left the room at all today? Sakura Mochi was on an expedition, Khala hadn’t had time to bring him breakfast, and he looked frail enough as it was. She’d have to bring him something later.

“Uh, hi,” he murmured. Most of his face was hidden under his hair, but Toso could make out the bags beneath his eyes. “Did you do anything nice?”

There he goes again, avoiding the question. “I went to the market, bought a lot of wine. Got something for you as well.”

That got him to look at her. Finally. Talking to hair got boring. She held up the purple bag for him to see.

“I know we’re not exactly close, and you’d rather keep to yourself,” she began, “but I want to be friends. So when I saw this, I thought of you, and... yeah... Here.”

Toso placed the package in his lap, not allowing him an opportunity to decline like he did with anything else that people offered him, then set about unloading the wine bottles. She’d already figured out that Raindrop Cake didn’t like having any sort of attention on him, and she was respecting that. Behind her, paper rustled as Raindrop Cake carefully pulled away the wrapping on his gift.

“You got this for me?”

The sheer shock and melancholy in his voice made Toso stop what she was doing and look back at him. He looked positively dumbfounded, staring at the round glass paperweight sat neatly in the palm of his hand, light bouncing off the surface. The wispy purple design inside looked like a flowering galaxy, small yet infinite in Raindrop Cake’s grasp.

“Uh huh,” Toso nodded. “It reminded me of you.”

There was a long silence, before Raindrop Cake lowered his hands to his lap, murmuring, “you shouldn’t have.” He didn’t take his eyes off the gift.

Toso just shrugged. “I wanted to. Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely… thank you…”

He was so quiet…

“You’re welcome. Uh, do you want to grab some lunch when I’m done?”

“Okay… let me just find a place to put this. Again… thank you… I-.”

“You’re welcome,” Toso repeated, before he could say he didn’t deserve it. “And hey, if you ever want to add anything to the room, feel free. I’m not much good at decorating, so go wild.”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raindrop Cake never came home, but he's got a new event tomorrow, so here's hoping!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something about the rain...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY GOT THE BOY! HAVE THIS CHAPTER TO CELEBRATE!!
> 
> NOW TO LEARN THE CRAB SALAD RECIPE!!!  
> \---  
> Takes place after 'Shopping' and 'There Are Limits'.

What was it about rain and thunder that made you feel so warm? Where did the easy comfort of the indoors come from, once you were curled up on something soft with a steaming mug in your hands?

Khala wasn’t too sure of the answer, but regardless, it was one of their favourite moments, to just sit in the Bistro’s front window seat with a hot coffee in front of them, and just watch the flash and roar of distant lightning outside whilst rain lashed against the front windows. They’d done the same with snow, back in Banza, when it was too fierce for anyone except Vodka and Boston to go out and brave the cold. Ume had liked to tell stories of Fallen Angels who could will such blizzards into being with just a shrug, who would prey upon weaker Food Souls who could not stand such frigid temperatures.

Even now, Khala’s coat puffed out at the memory of the cold.

The Bistro was all but empty; patrons not wanting to endure the rain for anything. Only a few people had bothered, scattered amongst tables with drinks and food, whilst Hawthorne watched Hotdog paint new designs on the front display window. Pancake was working in the kitchen, with Omurice as the only server. Tom Yum and Tempura were training in the garden, the rain plastering their hair onto their faces. Zongzi was there too, observing and instructing.

That was another thing. Why did people find exercise in the pounding rain so appealing? In Khala’s eyes, it just made things more uncomfortable. Clothes _and_ fur stuck to your body? No thanks. Then again... they were the only one with fur, so-.

Khala’s musing was cut short by the passing squeak of wheels, and they looked up to see a face that they hadn’t seen out of his room in a few days.

“Hey,” they said, making Raindrop Cake stop in his tracks. “You okay?”

There was a long moment where Raindrop Cake didn’t say anything, or even look at them. His hair, as usual, was partly obscuring his face, and it looked as if he’d forgotten to brush it today, a few tangles here and there, but otherwise he looked okay. Just... shameful...

“I... Toso’s busy meditating in the bedroom,” he explained quietly. “I didn’t want to bother her.”

“Okay,” Khala said. “Do you want something to drink?”

The shy Soul in the chair blinked at them, eyes widening briefly.

“A-are you sure? You really don’t need to...”

“It’s fine, really,” Khala insisted, already out of their seat. “I was about to make myself some more coffee, anyway. Come on, what would you like?”

Raindrop Cake looked taken aback by the offer, but wheeled after them anyway as they made their way behind the counter and to the coffee machine.

“We’ve got coffee, hot chocolate...” Khala listed, glancing between Raindrop Cake and the selection on the shelves. “black tea, green tea, a few herbal blends, a nice Gloriville Breakfast blend... still looking for an Oolong supplier, soo, none of that, I’m afraid...” they dropped their voice to a conspiratory whisper, “I've got some white tea hidden in the back, but don’t tell Wonton. He’s a demon for the stuff.”

Raindrop Cake was quiet for a while, looking at anything but Khala until he made his choice.

“Just some green tea, please,” he asked quietly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Khala made the drinks and set them on a tray, taking them back over to the table whilst Raindrop Cake followed in silence. They laid out the selection and sat back down, immediately cradling their coffee (cinnamon and orange, for the cold) in their hands and watching the rain hit the windows, lightning breaking through the slate clouds from time to time.

“How’ve you been feeling?” they asked, once again catching Raindrop Cake off-guard.

“I... I’m okay,” he murmured. His hands were clutched tightly around his teacup, which looked less fragile than him. “I don’t know how that’s important, though...”

A frown was beginning to creep onto Khala’s features. “Because I care for your well-being. You matter just as much as everyone else, you know.”

A pause... “You really don't need to...”

“I want to, though. Rain...” He finally looked up at them for the nickname. “I don’t know what happened before I Summoned you, but I want this to be a fresh start for you, like it has been for everyone. For me, even.”

“I... I don’t understand...”

“Not everything needs to be understood.”

“... What about you, Master Attendant? Are you... okay?”

It was Khala’s turn to fall silent, attention absorbed by the swirling depths of their coffee, ears tipped back.

“I like to think so...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not clear by now, I adore the rainy boi.


	24. Loyal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loyalty is putting yourself between your friend and the bitch trying to put their home out of business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merr Chrsmasssss
> 
> Sorry for the wait. Have a non-Xmas story about my favourite Defence Soul. With art!

Summoning Tempura was like bringing home a giant puppy. He was loud, excitable, and adored everyone he met, no matter how bad-tempered they turned out to be. When a desperately exhausted Khala first put him on service duty when the Bistro was short-staffed, the first time he encountered an unruly customer, he tried getting them to hug it out instead of starting a fight like Miso would’ve done. Maybe it was luck, or some inexplicable charm the clumsy, overeager Soul had, but the foul-mouthed young man who had first threatened to knock Tempura sideways became a blubbering, hungry teenager who admitted to not being able to feed himself and then agreed to working pot wash for the rest of the day in place of paying for his meal.

Khala almost felt bad putting him solely on field missions after that. But he took to it just as well, and always came back from them with a goofy smile on his face and an eager greeting for customers. For a while, Tempura’s cheer seemed infallible.

Until the day he came back from an assignment to the sight of someone being slapped.

And that someone turning out to be Khala.

The woman who’d done it was richly dressed, and stank of self-entitlement, with vicious nails painted red. Whether or not the gold jewellery that decorated every available surface of her vulturous form was real was up for debate.

“Do you have any _fucking_ idea,” she hissed, glaring with enough venom to kill a Fallen, “who I am? Who I know?”

“I don’t,” was all Khala said, their tone numb as they rubbed their cheek. Even from the door, Tempura could see the angry red mark that this _person_ had left, even through fur.

“I can put you out of business,” the woman announced, head held high as if she deserved everything in the world. “You’ll never cook in this city again, with the influence I have, after how poorly you’ve treated me.”

“You just slapped me,” Khala deadpanned, “because I wouldn’t serve you our last available portion of braised lamb, which _someone else_ has already ordered, and you’re refusing to pay for your multiple _expensive_ drinks. I have every right to call the authorities and your threats mean nothing to me.”

At the mention of police, the woman’s face suddenly turned a grim shade of purple.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she warned. “I have kids. How could you call the cops on a mother of two children, hm? You wouldn’t, would you?”

“I feel bad for your kids.”

Bad move. Khala barely had time to brace themselves before another _smack!_ rang through the air.

It didn’t hurt…

Someone had put themselves in front of the blow.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you need to leave.”

For a moment, Khala thought that the wrong Food Soul had walked in. The Tempura they knew would never speak to someone so coldly. Even the unruliest of customers were afforded some degree of warmth and hospitality. This man standing in front of them just sounded downright frigid.

“How dare you?!” the woman squawked, face twisting. “I-!”

“Ma’am,” Tempura interrupted, still chilling Khala to the bone with his tone, “violence is not tolerated here, especially towards working staff. My Attendant has already asked you to leave, so please, do yourself a favour, and go home before the cops are called.”

“This is between me and your ‘Attendant’, so get out of the way!”

The way she said ‘Attendant’, like Khala wasn’t deserving of such a title, made Tempura’s skin crawl, but he held his ground.

“I can’t do that, ma’am.”

“I’ll ruin you! Damn cat!” the woman screeched, one last time, before turning on her heel and finally  stomping towards the entrance. The moment she had slammed the door behind her, Tempura’s demeanour flipped, and he turned to Khala with a worrisome look.

“Are you okay, Master Attendant?”

“I’m fine, just a bit sore. What about you? She hit you pretty hard...”

“It’s nothing.”

Khala frowned. “You’re bleeding. That’s far from nothing.”

“It’s just a scratch, Master Attendant.”

“Still, you should get it looked at.” Khala’s voice dropped, just low enough for Tempura to hear. “She might have infected you.”

Tempura’s resulting laughter was infectious.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to shout at me about Food Fantasy, my Tumblr is [hrhowling](https://hrhowling.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Update: I started up an ask blog for Khala and co.! You can find them on Tumblr at ff-ask-cattendant.tumblr.com!


End file.
